the night we met ★ p, feyre

[★ HAZEL]

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as love filled night gives way to day

Shaking fingers dragged through unruly curls; air pushed through bitten lips and a sore throat.

Hiccups jumped against her sternum as tears slid down blotchy cheeks to fall against soft, worn wood. Knees curled into her chest, chin tucked into their valley as she tried to make herself as small as possible. The more she pressed her spine into the wall, the more she would disappear - the more she could pretend like Suiteheart and Margaery were still alive. Like she hadn't failed them so completely. Sobs shook her thin frame as she smoothed the pad of her thumb over a string, like she might hear a whisper of Suiteheart's voice if she plucked it.

It had been nineteen days since Margy and Suite had passed. Nineteen straight days of misery and grief and watching the world go on while Hazel was trapped in her bubble, stuck. She hated being feeling so utterly crippled in the wake of their death, but it wasn't something she could physically help. Part of her soul had been ripped straight out of her body with their last breath. It left a gaping whole that Hazel couldn't figure out how to fill. The only person she ever wanted to see was Bastille, but sometimes it felt like even he hadn't been effected to the same intensity. It also felt like he was hiding something from her, but she didn't care - she just wanted his comfort.

Now she was constantly gasping for breath, stuck under the waters of life without all of her life-savers. Solace was nowhere. Relief was nowhere. The pain that oozed from her open wound had no medication to heal it; what did you use to heal a broken heart? Hazel missed her family. She missed the comfort and the shelter and contentment they brought. She missed them until it was all she could think about. She wanted to preserve them, their memory - introduce every person that joined the Ascendants to their old rooms and say "This is Margy and Suite's room...they would have loved you." Hazel wanted to immortalize them, wanted to hang their pictures in the stars for the whole world to see because she couldn't find any other way to say thank you.

Gently, reverently, she reached for the instrument in front of her, trembling fingers timid. She felt like this was wrong, like it wasn't allowed: to sit in their room, surrounded by their photos and their perfectly made bed because Margaery refused to leave it a mess; by Suite's gem collections and the drawings from their children. She hated how this room smelled like dead roses and the ocean shore - she hated that it was abandoned and empty and the sense of comfort that filled her lungs when she stepped over the threshold was draining away.

Hazel hated that she couldn't let them go, that she carried the photo Suite left her folded in her back pocket wherever she went. She couldn't let them go - she couldn't let them go.

Sliding the ukulele into her lap like a key in a lock, Hazel picked out a few notes, blinking. "I am not the only traveler -" Her voice broke, wobbling over the words. " -who has not repaid his debt; I've been searching for a trail to follow again. Take me back to the night we met..." Her voice cracked again and she paused, struggling to push down the sobs that made her chest jump. She switched to a new song then, having forgotten the words to the other. "We never failed you, even though we might have felt that way, we never left you...but it hurt to see you in so much pain. And I would of stayed there forever....But it didn't..." She bit her lip. " but it didn't work out that way..."

HAZEL E CAELUM — THE ASCENDANTS — MOODBOARD — PLAYLIST — TAGS

© MADI

[Feyre]

☽  ☽  ☽

Feyre struggled to comprehend why certain members of the Ascendants seemed to mourn over lives lost. Death was a relative force, would always be a relative force. It held no power over anyone, instead bestowing upon an individual the rare opportunity to begin anew, their physical form nothing more than a degradable reminder as their soul crossed over to her much beloved other side. Very few had the same relationship that she did with spirits and other ghostly entities, and she supposed that that simple fact, when it boiled down to it, was the reason why death seemingly stung so much. It was not easy losing something you could hold, but then again, it was almost selfish to cling to the idea that somebody should still be here. The other side was a remarkable place and one that she had the special gift of interacting with so often... did nobody else understand the wonders it extended to its inhabitants?

The parents who had adopted her, loved her, had left her too soon, and while their souls were nowhere to be found amidst the fallen, she had simply written off their disappearance as peace. Beings that had lived for as long as they had - a thousand years to be precise - were far too ancient and desired something more final. Something that would finally offer them the rest that they deserved. She missed them sometimes, but never begged for them back or even wished that they were still among the living. It wasn't her place, nor would it ever be. Besides, the witches had quickly become her new family, training her and raising her until they decided to finally release her into the world, that guiding spirit (at least she thought it was a spirit- Feyre admittedly didn't know what species the strange yet motherly voice in the back of her head was) bringing her here.

Josephine... Feyre... This place is known as the Ascendants. You will find your family here, your real family.

Her words rang in her head everyday.

She supposed that the entity hadn't been lying- within the walls of the Observatory, she had discovered a cousin by the name of Oni. He was hot-headed and entirely his own, a reminder of her mother, if she was being honest. He lived in the room that his own parents had left behind, a room that she had been to only once and vowed to return to further view the photographs of a time long ago. A time where her adopted family was very much alive and smiling with a woman that Oni had explained was his own mother. Feyre had asked that guiding voice about it, but earned not even the familiar warmth of her presence. It seemed that not even ghosts knew everything about those photographs... about her parents.

And so Feyre decided to take it upon herself to learn about them without the assistance of anyone, tying up her untamable curls and stashing them beneath the witch's hat she so proudly (and unironically) wore. Her outfit for the day was simple: a black tank top paired with a flowing flower-embroidered skirt. She forego shoes simply because she had no interest in venturing outside, not when there was so many things within one single room to look upon. She didn't expect anybody else to be in the room though, much less Hazel strumming away on a ukulele and singing a song that tugged at her heartstrings for a reason she failed to identity.

Part of her was struck with the sudden need to turn away, abandoning her grandeur ideas of exploring her parents' past to allow Hazel to continue with, well, whatever she was doing. But there was another part of her that was immediately entrapped by the sound of her voice and the haunting familiarity of a ukulele. If Hazel didn't want company, she could turn her away and Feyre would be alright with retiring to her room and adding more notes to her grimoire, but on the off chance that the other girl wanted company (and could provide her answers), she didn't want to lose what felt like her one opportunity.

[color=#205d7a]"Do you live in this room too?"

No greeting, just a simple inquiry as teetered in Margy and Suite's old room, a soft breath escaping her lips as she saw them. Her parents. She couldn't comprehend why the picture had been taken or when, but she'd recognized her mother's striking features as her father's refinement. [color=#205d7a]"Whoever used to live here was my.. uh... dad's niece? I think? Oni was explaining it to me," Feyre continued awkwardly, feeling the incessant need to fill up this space with sound. Hazel had done it once and now, stared at by blank stares of individuals now deceased, the smell of the shore and roses lacing the air, the little witch knew that she needed to keep that noise alive. To succumb to silence would be bad... she didn't know why, just that it would be.

[color=#205d7a]"Your voice is really pretty, by the way. Is that your ukulele? It's nice... I like it," She continued, pursing her lips. She was definitely infringing and, aware of that now, felt terrible. She should have come back another time because obviously Hazel was upset and obviously Feyre was going to do nothing to help that. Ugh... she was an idiot. And yet, she still sat down on the floor, crossing her legs as she absently traced figure eights into the wood. [color=#205d7a]"I'm sorry."

It was all she could say, feeling especially heavy now. She wanted that voice to return and assure her that everything was alright, but it was nowhere to be found. Strange.

So strange.

[★ HAZEL]

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as love filled night gives way to day

Upon Feyre's entry, a harsh gasp escaped her lips, and a stone of zircon flew from across the room while the other gems rattled in their bowls. Rubbing her shoulder where the zircon had hit her, Hazel looked across the room at the young witch, miserable golden eyes tracing not the outline of her odd hat but the faint color that pulsed around her. It was...hauntingly familiar, despite Hazel never having seen that aura color before. For a moment, she simply stared, tears sliding across her skin, looking as though she'd seen a ghost.

A heartbeat passed, and the girl shook herself, disregarding the ridiculous concept that bubbled in her addled brain. People weren't supposed to see her like this - she couldn't drag herself about the clan limp and useless. "No," She blurted, sniffling and setting the ukulele down. "No, I don't live in this room, puer pythonissam." The Latin slipped off her tongue without her recognition, something in her chest prompting the language onto her tongue. She only ever spoke it to Bastille now, as any other outward sound of it nearly put her in tears. (Not that it mattered; she was already in tears.) Hazel pushed herself to her feet, feeling like she had been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. Hastily wiping her cheeks in an attempt to hide what a mess she was, she froze at Feyre's next words.

"Your father's...neice?" Hazel echoed, her heart slamming against her ribs. Was that why she recognized this girl's aura? Because she was related to Margy or Suite? Her eyes scanned over the flare of color again, wishing she had Bastille's talent at reading them. She found nothing but a frustrating sense of de-ja-vu, and ultimately decided that this child shouldn't be saddled with Hazel's emotional burden. "Feyre, right?" She asked after a pause, bending down to grasp the ukulele. It was also a guise to collect herself, attempting to swallow the thickness of her voice and the heartbeat throbbing in her throat. "You're the girl who tried to speak Latin the other day. I'm Hazel." Hazel found herself smiling faintly at the memory, at the ridiculous thing she said. "You had good pronunciation, but I think your context and comprehension needs a little work."

Hazel stood with Suite's ukulele resting at her hip while she folded a picture and slipped it into her back pocket, cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Ah, thank you...sorry you had to hear it like that. I'm a wreck." She winced, expression growing somber a hand ghosted over the strings and wood of the instrument at her side. "No...it belonged to a very good friend of mine. She bought me my own, actually, so I shouldn't be messing with this one..." It's just the one I learned to play on, and is the closest thing I can get to her... She finished her sentence in silence, not ready to give away that information to a child.

She watched as Feyre sat down, and bit her lip. This little girl was clearly curious to some degree - and Hazel was exhausted, but unwilling to let this child sit in the room of her dead relatives. "Here, why don't we go to my room?" Hazel suggested, squatting down to poke at Feyre's shoulder with the tip of a scarred finger. "I'll teach you some Latin and help you tame that wild mane of yours." She added, reaching underneath the hat to tug at a flyaway curl, subconsciously mirroring the tease that Bastille used with her so often.

(puer pythonissam - young witch)

HAZEL E CAELUM — THE ASCENDANTS — MOODBOARD — PLAYLIST — TAGS

© MADI

[Feyre]

☽  ☽  ☽

Something stirred within her, deep and melancholic and halfway successful in dampening her own violet eyes as she gazed at Hazel. The tears that slipped soundlessly down her cheeks were enough to shatter the little witch's heart in two, breath catching in her throat as she staggered forward, overwhelmed with the desire to alleviate her pain. She was much younger than the other girl and yet, found nothing but a considerable desire to protect her from harm like a mother might her child. The feelings were misplaced and unfamiliar, but she did nothing to shoo them away, instead considering the implications of her sadness.

This had to be about the death that had struck the Ascendants just hours before her tumultuous arrival. She had tried to understand their pain, but she hadn't known Margaery or Shay- they were faceless names whispered on the breeze to her - and thus, her efforts to sympathize with her new family always felt short. She knew that they were somehow related, the law that bound her to her mother and father doing the same to Margaery. Adoption was weird though, and Feyre didn't know if she had been released by that familial binding when her parents passed. The witches had never dared to talk about her status lest she be reclaimed by the foster home that she had been pulled out of and Feyre knew better to probe. Her situation had been nice enough and she had always been cared for, it made no sense to pull at things that would merely unravel her life.

She had halted just before Hazel, momentarily seized by her own bout of sadness as she reflected on her rather tattered family. Hazel could relate, she supposed- obviously she had been close to the recently deceased. [color=#ac5847]"Don't cry, aurea puella." The nickname rolled seamlessly off of her tongue, an innate reaction to the despair currently exhibited by Hazel. She hardly knew her and yet, Feyre felt as if they were close. Closer than words, actually. If only that damned voice would return and extend to her that signature brand of guidance that it had become renowned for- she could use a bit of motherly help right about now.

A strange force stopped her from reaching out and brushing away fresh tears, expression merely contorting as she pondered her inquiry. Young witch. Father's niece. The words were jumbling in her mind suddenly, eyes squeezing shut as she fought to banish the surge of memories, of finding her mother and father dead, of the witches taking her in with heads bowed and hands clasped together in silent prayer to deities long forgotten by everyone else. [color=#ac5847]"Uh, yeah. I mean, he adopted me but... We're still related. His name was Elijah." She stated that fact so casually amidst the growing chaos in her mind, shoulders rising and falling in a shrug as her eyes reclaimed that almost mischievous light. She needed to make Hazel feel better, and if that meant sacrificing her own feelings for a moment, then so be it. Besides, she always said that there was no need for her to mourn the dead, she couldn't start behaving like a hypocrite now.

[color=#ac5847]"Feyre. Josephine. Josie. The witches usually went with Josephine, but I don't really care what you call me. Any name is a good name," She continued easily, heaving a sigh of relief as a smile crept upon Hazel's features. The ukulele seemed like a cool instrument and there was no denying Hazel's talent- Fey still couldn't help but feel guilty for disturbing her though. She opened her mouth to comment only to step back, amazed, as Haze offered to help her with her hair. The witches had always instructed her to wear it in long braids that cascaded over her shoulders, little ringlets of gold woven in here and there to compliment her complexion. Since living here, she had taken the opportunity to let her hair loose without the witches' watchful gaze and stern order. They couldn't tell her what she could and couldn't do so long as she was here, and finally, finally, it could be free.

[color=#ac5847]"I'd like that..." Confessed Feyre, grinning widely now. Her troubles were almost completely forgotten, embers igniting and dancing brazenly in the air as Hazel released a stray curl from the confinements of her hat and bandana. [color=#ac5847]"Let's go! I'm excited!"

[★ HAZEL]

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HAZEL ELISE CAELUM ★ THE ASCENDANTS ★ COCOA FELINE ★ GOLD EYES ★ IMMORTAL ★ 3 SOULS ★ 11 MONTHS

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Never before had she been so oddly reminded of herself. She hadn’t met Feyre but once or twice, and yet...there was something inherently familiar about the girl. There was a mirror, somewhere in that dark skin and those uncontrollable curls — in that desperate fire in her eyes to prove herself, like she’d done something wrong and needed to prove that she could do better. Feyre was what Hazel wished she had been like as a child: confident and brave with a reckless bravado that other people admired. Instead she was a fragile thing with gold eyes and cinnamon curls, scared of anything that brushed against her skin.

Hazel studied the gentle pulse of Feyre’s aura; the bold color of it outlining the gentle rosey hue in the middle. It was a thin line of pink and faint, but it was there. Hazel badly wanted to reach out and touch it, hoping that if she did, she might smell flowers and hear the sweet lilt of Latin in a British accent.

“Don’t cry, aurea puella.”

Hazel’s eyes snapped up, searching the younger girl’s face. She searched the deep expression that had motherly love and pride rising in eyes too young for their look, for the sad tilt of her lips that reminded Hazel of the time she told Suite about her childhood.

Then the expression was gone, taking with it a small release of breath from Hazel’s lungs. Feyre’s mood became petulantly puzzled once more, trying to grasp at a concept she didn’t quite get the whole picture of her. Hazel was left to stare, golden gaze unnervingly focused and troubled, wondering if someone was actually twisting a knife in her heart or if that was just the pain of hearing the endearment Margy had used with her so often.

“Feyre and Josephine are both pretty names,” Hazel finally murmured, forcing her lips to make words. “They’re both very powerful — they suit you well.” Talking became easier the more she did it. Hazel hoped Feyre wouldn’t notice; that was the last thing the young girl needed. She was lifting Hazel’s surprise anyway, her giddy excitement over something as simple as hair braiding making the weight in her heart a little easier to bear.

“Right this way then, deliciae.” Hazel smiled, forced the action to rise and crinkle her eyes because she needed to feel that infectious happiness Feyre was radiating. She gestured for her to follow with a wave of her hand before stepping out into the hallway. The tension in her shoulders seemed to melt as she crossed the threshold, stepping out of that miserable room to lead the way to her own. “Arion used to stay in my room with me when we first moved in,” Hazel mused for no reason in particular. “It was awful. He’d stumble down those big stairs every day, following me everywhere...those four clumsy hooves of his — four right hooves, I swear by it — I always thought he’d trip himself and fall.” she snorted to herself and rounded a corner. “And I’m not sure if you’ve ever taken care of a horse, but let me tell you: potty training them isn’t easy.”

Pushing open the heavy metal door that obscured her room from view, Hazel stepped in, over the crack in the cement from an unsure boy in an odd situation a long time ago. Her room wasn’t the best, but it was home. Hazel fell back on her bed, relishing in the feeling of the whole space being clean. “Here we are,” Hazel waved vaguely toward the rest of the room. “Domus mea domus tua; make yourself at home.” She tacked on, making a Latin play off the Spanish home welcome.

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TAGS . PLAYLIST . MOODBOARD . BIOGRAPHY . FERROKINESIS CHART

© MIITHERS

[Feyre]

☽  ☽  ☽

In the moments that they were left to simply stare at one another, Feyre felt a strange tug on the corners of her soul. It was as if fate itself was trying to tell her something, whispering words in a lost language that could only fall upon misunderstanding ears, growing more and more incessant until she wanted to just up and ask Hazel why she resonated so deeply within her. But she held her tongue, the embers that danced and crackled across her skin illuminating it gold in the flickering light of the nearby lamp as her frustration peaked and then all but dissipated. She was a witch- her hyperawareness to the natural world around her couldn't keep frightening her as it did. Whatever was happening, whatever misplaced and unfamiliar feeling she was detecting... it was just an extension of her undeveloped powers.

Feyre seemingly returned to reality upon hearing the compliment, cheeks burning red (though she couldn't help but agree). Her names had always been a subject of fascination to the witches. Feyre was one that held within it a great deal of power and, in a way, was a nod to her long forgotten and powerful aunt. They reserved that name for special events, calling her Josephine at all other times lest they disturb some ancient balance that she didn't quite see. Here, she just went by either- both rolled off of the tongue easy enough. [color=#ac5847]"Thanks!" The young teen finally managed, hands raising as she spoke to adjust her pointed hat, the blue bandanna underneath revealed for a brief second, [color=#ac5847]"I like your name a lot."

She would have elaborated, would have confirmed that it fit her too, had she not been distracted by the mention of Arion. [color=#ac5847]"You have a horse?" She inquired excitedly, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. She had only ever seen a horse but once, her father having lifted her upon it with concealed strength and holding the reins as he guided her down a path, singing some old Latin song to her. She wondered if Hazel would ever let her ride her horse- oh, she certainly  hoped so! It had been so long, too long!

But just as the horse had stolen her attention from Hazel's name, Hazel's room stole her attention away from Arion. She first found herself transfixed by the odd crack in the room, a centerpiece in Feyre's eyes though she doubted it was the other girl's intention. She resisted the urge to crouch down and trace it with an outstretched palm, instead fixating her gaze upon the bed that Hazel had just sat down on. "Make yourself at home,"- she planned to! It was so warm and clean here that Feyre couldn't help but feel immediately comforted, especially as she sat down in the open space on Hazel's bed, that grin not once wavering.

[color=#ac5847]"Alright, make my hair not a mess!" She giggled before carefully taking off her hat and unwrapping the bandanna, the poof of black curls springing to life.